Mist Locks the Green Mountains, the Old Friend Is Gone

After my father died, I signed a bone marrow donation registry.

In the sixth year, Percival Harding told me someone needed my marrow to survive.

The recipient was willing to give me half a million as compensation, on the one condition that their identity stayed hidden.

I didn't think twice. I rushed to the hospital without stopping, and there I overheard him talking with his apprentice.

"Dr. Harding, why can't we tell her the person who needs the marrow is Miss Winfield?"

Percival's voice came back, calm and even:

"Gwendolen's illness runs in her family. Six years ago I gave the marrow Carla Swanson's father had been waiting three years for to Mr. Winfield, who needed it urgently."

"Mr. Winfield survived. But Carla's father took a sudden turn and died."

"Now Gwendolen has the same illness, and as it happens Carla's marrow is a match. If she found out it was Gwendolen, she'd make a scene. That's why."

My hand froze halfway to the door. Then I heard Percival give a bitter little laugh, as if he had no other choice:

"I already married Carla. She's only donating a bit of marrow for Gwendolen. What's the big deal?"

So my father had come within reach of being saved. So Percival had never cared for me at all. He'd married me only to keep a supply ready for Gwendolen's hereditary illness.

The thought pushed the door open under my hand, and my voice shook:

"If it's no big deal, then why not just tell me straight that the one who needs the marrow is Gwendolen Winfield?"

The room went dead silent in an instant.

Both of them turned to look at me.

Percival's face stayed more or less composed. His young apprentice, sensing which way the wind was blowing, made an excuse and slipped out at once.

"You were eavesdropping on us?"

Once it was only the two of us left in the office, Percival's expression darkened:

"Didn't I say the recipient's identity had to be kept confidential? Why did you come and listen in? Breaking the rules like this."

Hearing the blame layered under every word, I couldn't help a soft laugh:

"You, follow the rules? If you follow the rules, then why did you take the marrow my father had waited three years for and hand it to Gwendolen Winfield out of turn?"

"That was marrow my father finally waited long enough for, a match he'd finally gotten, and you just gave it to Gwendolen like that. And now you want to keep it from me too, take my marrow to save Gwendolen's life? You even meant to hide it from me!"

Six years have passed, and I still can't forget my father gripping my hand before he died:

"Dad still wants to live. Dad still wants to see you married, see you have children, wants a little more time with you"

"If Dad's gone, who's left in this world to look after you"

But the moment he finished saying it, his hand fell away.

Back then I always believed my father simply had bad luck, that something had gone wrong with the donor, and that was why he missed his treatment window.

After that I signed the bone marrow donation registry, hoping to give someone with the same illness as my father a sliver of a chance to live.

Only now do I know there was nothing wrong with the donor at all. It was Percival, my father's attending physician, who took that life-saving chance and gave it to Gwendolen Winfield's father.

And Percival, after my father died, was all warmth and concern, pursuing me again and again. I always thought of him as the bit of luck my father had left behind for me.

I never imagined he was the beginning of everything that went wrong for me, that even marrying me was only to make me a walking marrow bank for Gwendolen.

Thinking of all this, I raised my head and looked at the silent Percival:

"Percival, since Gwendolen is the one you really want to protect."

"Then let's divorce. I'll give you back to her."

At that I turned to leave, but Percival suddenly seized my wrist:

"We can't divorce. If you walk out like this, what happens to Gwendolen's illness?"

Even knowing the truth already, hearing Percival defend Gwendolen Winfield like this still felt like a blade driven clean through my chest.

I let out a cold laugh. "Her illness has nothing to do with me."

"Her father stole my father's chance to live, and now she wants me to forget all of it and donate my marrow to her?"

"Gwendolen is innocent!"

There was strain in Percival's voice, the sound of a man holding himself back.

The word innocent set me off completely.

"And my father wasn't? He waited three years for a chance to live!"

"And I'm not innocent? I deserve to be a walking marrow bank for your precious Gwendolen?"

"If you hadn't given that marrow to her father, my father might still be alive!"

The words had barely left me when the office door swung open.

Gwendolen stood there in a hospital gown too big for her, pale and frail.

She rushed forward and dropped to her knees in front of me.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I won't get treated, just please don't talk about Percival that way, okay?"

"I know this is all my fault. I was the one who begged Percival to save my father back then!"

"I won't get treated. Just let me die. A life for a life, okay?"

She wept, her face streaked with tears, and grabbed my hand to strike her own cheek with it.

"Hit me, okay? As long as you stop blaming Percival, just hit me, okay?"

Percival couldn't stand to watch anymore. He stepped in and shoved me away.

"How can you be so cold-blooded? Can't you see how sick Gwendolen already is?"

"And you actually dared to hit her!"

I looked at the two of them, almost amused. Gwendolen had grabbed my hand and slapped it against her own face. I hadn't done a thing, yet in Percival's mouth it became my cruelty, my cold blood. I didn't want to be tangled up with either of them a second longer. I turned to go, and Percival called out my name.

"Carla Swanson, you try walking out that door."

"Your father's grave. I've been paying the upkeep on it year after year."

"The fee just came due. If you dare walk out, I'll call the caretaker right now and tell him I'm not renewing. I'll have him throw your father's ashes in the trash!"

My steps stopped dead. Stiffly, I turned back to face Percival.

"Percival, you actually dare use my father's ashes to threaten me!"

"Are you even human?"

Percival seized my wrist. "Curse me all you want. After your father died, you followed me around. Every cent your family had went to his treatment. If it weren't for me, do you think you'd get to be Mrs. Harding, decent and respectable?"

"Everything you have, I gave you. Stop making a scene. Just donate your marrow to Gwendolen and I'll give you anything you want. I won't divorce you. I promise I'll be good to you from now on, all right?"

Those last few lines carried a coaxing edge.

I looked at him and let out a cold laugh. "Percival, you really do love Gwendolen. For her sake, you'd bind yourself to me for the rest of your life."

Then I picked up the consent form off the desk and signed my name.

The surgery was set for three days out. As the marrow donor, I checked into the hospital along with Gwendolen.

For Gwendolen, everything had been arranged by Percival.

He'd put together a full set of her things, from slippers to changes of clothes, every last item covered.

For me, there was only the disposable toiletry kit the hospital handed out to everyone.

I didn't say anything. In Percival's eyes I was nothing but a walking marrow bank kept around to save Gwendolen's life.

While Percival was in the room, Gwendolen thanked me over and over.

The moment he left, her face changed.

She looked at me and let out a cold laugh.

"Carla, I've got something good here. Want to take a look?"

I didn't want to deal with her. I closed my eyes to rest.

But she shoved her phone screen right up in front of me.

"You sure you don't want to look?"

"Go on, guess whose urn this is."

At the word urn, my eyes snapped open.

On the screen, a cemetery worker was dropping an urn into a trash bin.

Every nerve in me pulled tight at the sight.

But Gwendolen was still smirking, and I couldn't hold back any longer. I grabbed her by the collar.

"What did you do with my father's ashes?"

Just then Percival pushed the door open. The second he saw me gripping Gwendolen's collar, his face went dark.

"Carla, what are you trying to do to Gwendolen?"

I let go of her and turned to him, my eyes bloodshot. "Where are my father's ashes? Did the two of you throw them out?"

Percival frowned at me. "What's gotten into you? Why would I throw out your father's ashes for no reason?"

As he spoke, he stepped forward and pulled Gwendolen close, checking her over carefully for any injury.

I stood off to the side, my fists clenched. "Percival, I need to be sure the two of you didn't throw out my father's ashes!"

A trace of impatience crossed his face. He pulled out a contract and tossed it to me.

"This is the cemetery contract I renewed today. I renewed the plot for five years. Your father's ashes are sitting safely in the cemetery, right where they should be."

"Yes, I used your father's ashes to threaten you, but that was only because you wouldn't agree to donate marrow for Gwendolen. Now that you're cooperating, I'd never do anything like that."

Hearing him promise it, I slowly calmed down.

After all, what Gwendolen had shown me was only a video.

I'd let myself get carried away just now.

But my father's ashes could not stay in Percival's hands a moment longer.

"Percival, I don't feel safe leaving my father's ashes at the cemetery. I want to see them with my own eyes."

That request brought a flicker of irritation to his face.

"Carla, what is this really about? The surgery's in three days. Why do you have to have your father's urn right now?"

"I already told you. Once Gwendolen recovers, I'll settle down and build a real life with you. When that time comes, I'll take you to the cemetery to visit your father. What is there left for you to worry about?"

Watching the way Percival shielded Gwendolen, I felt like a heavy stone was pressing on my chest.

A few seconds later, I let out a cold laugh and looked at him.

"What is there for me to worry about?"

"Percival, how am I supposed to not worry about a man who used my father's ashes to threaten me into donating marrow for another woman?"

"Or should I not worry about the attending physician who abused his position to take away my father's chance at life and hand it to someone else?"

Percival's face darkened, but he had no way to argue with what I'd said.

Because everything I'd named was something he had actually done.

"I signed the marrow donation form, so I'll give her my marrow. You don't have to worry about that."

I let out a cold laugh and pointed at the door. "But right now, I want the two of you out of my room. I'm sick of the sight of you."

Percival opened his mouth, wanting to say something more.

But when he met my icy expression, he shut it again and left, taking Gwendolen with him.

Once I was sure they were both gone, I took out my phone and made a call.

"Mr. Sullivan, that offer you mentioned before, going to the mountains to restore artifacts. Is it still open?"

"But I need to ask a favor. I need you to help me recover my father's ashes. I want to take him with me when I leave."

When he confirmed, the weight that had been sitting on my chest finally lifted.

Percival liked to say he'd given me a dignified life, that he'd made me his wife, Mrs. Harding.

But he'd forgotten that my father had been a renowned archaeologist and artifact restorer.

And that I'd studied archaeology and restoration myself, all through college.

People with those skills are rare, and I'd grown up at my father's side absorbing everything, so of course I was one of them.

The head of the mountain-region restoration project had reached out to me several times, and every time I'd stayed for Percival.

Now that I knew the truth, what reason did I have left to stay?

Soon the day of the surgery arrived.

Gwendolen and I were wheeled into the operating room at the same time.

Once the anesthesia took hold, the cold marrow needle sank into my bone.

When I woke again, my room was empty. I picked up my phone and saw a message from the head of the mountain-region restoration team.

My father's urn had already been recovered and kept safe.

The weight on my chest lifted again. Just then, Percival pushed open the door and walked in.

The first thing out of his mouth wasn't whether I was in any pain.

It was, "Gwendolen's surgery went perfectly."

"Once Gwendolen is discharged, I'll take you to see your father."

"I'll be good to you from now on. But her illness could relapse, so I'll need you ready at all times."

I looked at him and almost found it funny.

He didn't know I'd never be preparing anything for Gwendolen again, because tonight I'd be on a plane to the mountains, headed for a restoration project that would last decades.

"Percival, didn't you say the recipient would pay five hundred thousand as compensation?"

"So where is that five hundred thousand now?"

Hearing me bring it up, his face darkened.

He frowned at me. "Is money the only thing in your eyes?"

"What else would there be? Am I supposed to see you instead of money? What good has knowing you ever done me? You handed my father's chance to live to someone else, and turned me into a walking marrow bank for your precious first love."

He looked at me, his eyes cold. "You'll get your money. Don't worry about that."

He took out his phone to make the transfer.

Just then a nurse knocked and came in, turning to him. "Dr. Harding, Miss Winfield is awake."

The instant he heard Gwendolen was awake, he turned and strode out.

Watching him rush off, I gave a bitter smile and pushed myself up from the bed with effort.

Then I left the hospital and got into the car waiting to take me to the airport.

Two hours later, holding my father's ashes, I boarded the plane.

At the same time, Percival walked into my room holding up his phone.

"Look, I've sent you the money. I won't shortchange you for donating your marrow to Gwendolen."

"From now on you're still my wife, still the dignified Mrs. Harding"

He stopped halfway through, only then noticing the room was empty.

The only thing left was a stack of papers on the nightstand, five bold words across the top: the divorce agreement.